


All the Gold in the World

by SapphyValentine



Series: Petyr + Sansa Week 2016 [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I made myself sad, Mentions of Prostitution, PxSWeek, Tumblr, backstory speculation, brief mention of noncon, dubcon, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyValentine/pseuds/SapphyValentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He believed in upward mobility. </p><p>[Or, Petyr's time between the Vale and King's Landing, many years ago.]<br/>—<br/>Day Two: Gold</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Gold in the World

* * *

 

He believed in upward mobility.

Though he left the details out, Lord Baelish prided himself on his successful– albeit ongoing– climb of the ladder; thus, Sansa was on the receiving end of many long (often one-sided) conversations in which he bragged about his acquired status. He certainly enjoyed hearing himself talk, especially in bed. Sansa would never admit how much she actually liked it.

One night, though, Sansa ventured further into his reminiscing. 

"Lord Baelish," she asked, his arm curled around her, "how does one start a brothel?"

Sansa felt Petyr suck in a breath, his body tensing briefly behind her, before he asked amusedly, "Why do you want to know, sweetling?"

She turned around in his arms, staring into his suddenly guarded eyes before hesitantly responding, "Well, I want to know how  _you_ started. It just seems so...mysterious, I suppose."

Petyr seemed to become even more distant, slowly pulling away and turning his back to her. Sansa was quickly regretting ever asking.

After a long moment of tense silence, Petyr simply replied, "You have to know all aspects of any industry before you invest in it."

With that, he rolled out of bed and began redressing. Sansa was stunned– whatever reaction she was expecting, this certainly wasn't it. She didn't know how to proceed, so she nervously defaulted to her courtly manners.

"My lord...I did not mean to offend. I...I'm very sorry, I was only curious–"

" _Alayne_ ," Petyr interrupted, "no worries. Now, your father's tired. We'll discuss your marriage to Harry in the morning, yes?"

"Yes, Father," Sansa answered obediently, feeling disappointed and oddly ashamed.

Petyr had already walked out of the door before Sansa realized he did not even kiss her goodnight.

◊◊◊

Petyr stared into the fire, his large goblet of wine long since thrice emptied. He did not know why Sansa's question had caught him off-guard. Littlefinger had an answer to everything. Then again, no one had ever asked him about  _how_ or  _why_ he was involved in the prostitution industry, only that he _was._ As he continued to stare at the flames, a memory took hold.

 _A body covered his own. He knew it was a body because he could_ smell _it, the scent of sweat and wine and feminine perfume. He heard the sound of clothes rustling, perhaps being removed. It was then that he felt hands undo his shirt, and run down his chest, as the body atop his undulated jerkily._

My Petyr _, the voice crooned, and he was sure that it was Catelyn. It had to be– he was saving himself for her. Perhaps she had changed her mind after their many dances that night._

_When it was all over, he would run to the chamber pot to vomit. And he would tell himself that it was Catelyn over and over again until it became true._

Petyr pulled himself away from that trail of thought, not wanting to entertain the memories of a long-since dead boy, but he was drunker than he initially realized, and his mind took him to another memory.

_Lysa came to visit him. Perhaps he was lonely, or perhaps she looked just enough like Catelyn when he was dazedly free of pain via milk of the poppy, but he slept with her. He refused to admit how worthless it made him feel afterward. He also refused to acknowledge how worthless Lysa may or may not have felt; he didn't have the capacity to care anymore._

_When his fortnight was up, he returned home to the Fingers, chest aching from more than physical pain. His father did not even greet him._

_For the first few weeks, they simply avoided each other, but a confrontation was inevitable._

" _Boy_ ,"  _Petyr's father snarled,_ " _you have shamed House Baelish. All that we've worked for has been for nothing, all because you couldn't keep your cock in your breeches."_

_"Father, I–"_

_Petyr was quickly silenced with a monstrous glare. "I won't have you here wasting our supplies or wasting any more of my resources; you know our connections in Braavos are long since dead, and now the Tullys are the same. Until I get back every single gold dragon I've spent clothing you, feeding you, and educating you, do not step foot in this keep."_

_Petyr tried again, "Father, please. I–"_

_"You will address me as your Lord. You do not deserve to wear our sigil. You are no Braavosi, and you will never be Westerosi. Now get out."_

_He had ridden so hard his thighs were chafed raw by the time he had reached Gulltown. He was good with numbers, the Maester had always said so. Perhaps he could gamble the money back, with what few coins he had._

_This worked, for a time. But he was overconfident, and lost it all– his horse and his spare garments as well._

_So now what did he have?_

Petyr didn't realize he was shaking until he dropped his goblet. He watched it roll around, a few droplets of wine staining the stone floor.

_It was shameful. He had never felt so exposed. Standing there, along with a dozen other naked people, Petyr wanted to sink into the ground. Or just die._

_As each person was inspected, he considered running away and jumping into the sea. By the time he had convinced himself to do it, the Brothelkeeper had gotten to him._

_"Hm," the portly man grunted, "now then, who do we have here?"_

_Petyr said nothing, not knowing how to answer such a question._

_"I asked you a question, boy!" The Brothelkeeper shouted, causing the others to shift uncomfortably._

_"My name is P–"_

_"No, no," the man chortled, suddenly amused, "I don't care about your name._ Who _do we have, here?"_

_Petyr didn't know why he said it, but it seemed like the right answer."...No one."_

_The man smiled strangely, as if Petyr had passed some kind of test. "Good answer. You work tomorrow evening. Dismissed!"_

_With that, a few older women motioned Petyr and several others to follow them into the back rooms. He did not know what happened to the others who were turned away._

_For several weeks, it was hell. Petyr doesn't even remember most of it, being so drunk as to not acknowledge the depravity and disgustingness of what he had to do. It didn't matter if it was an ugly old man or a beautiful young woman; all of them were just pieces. He, too, was just a piece, that would one day stop breathing. But he was no longer contemplating running to death, no. If he was going to die, it would be out of this hellhole, where the most vile acts occurred apathetically._

_It was then that he truly began studying people– how they thought, how they felt, what motivated them. What their secrets were, and how to exploit them while keeping his hands clean. He found it easier and easier to manipulate his clients, and in turn he earned more than any of the others in the brothel. Enough to earn his freedom. Enough to return to the Fingers, to his Lord Father, if he so chose._

_But he would never return there. No, he wasn't going to fight anymore. He was going to do what he did best._

_Fuck._

_And then he would have all the gold in the world to himself._

  

_One day, the Brothelkeeper called him into his office._

_"Petyr." The man said simply._

_"H-How do you know my name?" Petyr stammered, suddenly unnerved._

_The man simply smiled, before stating, "'Petyr' is not your name anymore. You are Littlefinger, are you not?"_

_Petyr stared, uncomprehending._

_"I don't understand."_

_"Yes, you do." The man took a breath, mouth smiling and eyes not, "And Littlefinger is good with money, and with people of all statuses. I bet he could do more than earn extra gold coins from patrons. I bet he could earn this entire establishment more money, perhaps even get noticed outside of these walls and bring in more business. And if I were a betting man, I would bet that Littlefinger knows the value of a good investment, yes?"_

_It was like something came over him. It was like he was a new person._

_"Yes."_

_But of course, he was Littlefinger._

_Who else would he be?_

A loud knocking sounded at his door, startling Petyr so badly that he jumped. He took a moment to compose himself, some of the drunken stupor gone. He wondered what time it was.

He knew who it would be before he even opened the door. Sansa– no, Alayne– stood there, looking as though she were exhausted.

"My dear daughter, why aren't you in bed?"

"Father– Lord Baelish–"

Petyr glanced around briefly, taking note the hallway was clear before ushering her inside.

◊◊◊

As soon as the door was closed, Sansa ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. She knew he didn't like it when she acted meek, but she couldn't stop herself from rambling nervously. 

"I want to apologize for my earlier nosiness. I...I am just a stupid girl who doesn't listen to her father, I don't deserve anything from you–"

He didn't let her finish.

Petyr abruptly stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her as he brought their lips together with urgency.

Sansa moaned softly at the sudden contact, arms curling around his shoulders, before gently pulling away.

"Lord Baelish..."

Petyr stared at her for a long time, even after Sansa clearly grew awkward and uncomfortable, blushing madly. She was about to take up the role of Alayne again, thinking that that was what he wanted, before he spoke again.

"Sansa," Petyr said hoarsely, eyes boring into her own, "You are not stupid, nor are you nosy. You...deserve all the gold in the world."

"Lord Baelish," she sighed, leaning in to kiss him again. It was not often that he was so open with her.

"Please," Petyr whispered before he kissing her back, "call me Petyr." 

 

 

 


End file.
